Forgetfulness
by Gif
Summary: "You are nothing without me": after those cruel and famous words, Oxatre finds Hephaistion with his Companions in the midst of a long conversation that makes him remember his life so far.
1. Chapter 1

**Forgetfulness**

Odi et amo, quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.

Nescio, sed fieri sentior et excrucior.

(_I hate and I love. __May be you want to know how it happens._

_I don't know, I only feel it happens, and it is excruciating.)_

_G.V. Catullus, Poems, 85_

It was pouring down. It had been raining for weeks. The Persian rallied in his cloak, trying to gain more shelter from the strong, insistent raindrops. Walking had become difficult, even for soldiers setting down wooden catwalks on the more used paths.

He surveyed his surroundings while crossing the camp. He could perceive the bad mood from a thousand little evidences: untidy equipments left unguarded in the rain, a group of soldiers arguing and cursing about trifles, captains barking orders and getting furious with their soldiers' indolence, deep wrinkles in the frowned foreheads of higher rank officers who on rare occasions could be found outside their tents. Such weather made all men in the army nervous and prone to fights.

When he entered the west area of the camp, he felt the change in the atmosphere. Soldiers still had dark faces and officers still frowned, but he noticed their efforts to dominate their mood and to behave professionally. No fights, no shouting. Only a tense silence.

While approaching the Hipparch's tent, positioned alone on a small natural hill, he noticed small groups of soldiers gathered around fires, heedless of the annoying rain. They were sitting on logs or standing, softly talking to each other, wearing serious expressions on their determined faces. You would have assumed that they were waiting, perhaps guarding something or somebody.

Oxatre(1) made his way to the tent through the mud, carefully watched by the men. The looks on their faces could be read clearly: "_Friend_ _or_ _foe_?" But, his name was whispered by someone before he could seize the opportunity to introduce himself, and the look on their faces changed. Not that it became friendlier, but lost some hostility. He went beyond the fires, and climbed the slope leading to the tent. Two guards stood at the entrance, under a small wooden repair.

He smiled. Only his friend, among all the Makedonian commanders, could have bothered to have a repair built for his guards. He really cared for his men, and they were loyal to him to the point of madness. Well, the majority of them. Men are men, whoever is commanding them. There are always incorrigible ones, those who always complain, whatever the situation is. However, very few of the Hipparchos' men asked to be transferred in other units.

It was not that the Makedonian was soft, or that he pampered them. The Persian could remember several times when he had asked of them huge amounts of work and effort.

He smiled again, when he recalled the times he had heard him yelling towards some culprit, in true harsh Makedonian dialect, making the men blush like virgins on their wedding night; they kept their eyes cast down, not even daring to object.

No, he was not a sweet man. But he cared for them, and respected their work, and moreover, he was constant in his mood, not allowing himself to vent his frustrations on them. He had never asked anything of them that he wasn't doing himself. That he learned from the King. And that was the reason why his unit's soldiers had closed ranks around their commander, now that he was in disgrace, the reason why they were enduring the weather without complaining. They wouldn't add to the difficulties of the current situation.

He stepped to the tent's entrance, and the guards welcomed him with a bow, before calling up a page from inside the tent. A young boy rushed through the flaps of the tent, bowed, listened to the Persian's request and hurried inside to announce his master of Oxatre's visit. He returned only a few moments later.

'Good' thought Oxatre 'He's not denying himself' and politely showed him in.

The inner room of the tent, where his host was waiting for him, was lit with dim lights, provided by two braziers and some lamps. Oxatre stopped, surprised by the scene before his eyes. He had expected to find his friend alone, grieving in an elegant pose, or savagely stirring in wild anger. But, instead, Hephaistion was sprawled on a chair, his feet on one brazier's leg and a look of annoyance on his face, while Ptolemàios and Leònnatos were pacing up and down in the tent, frowning deeply.

As he stepped in, the Hipparch turned his head, warmly smiling at him, and immediately got up from his chair to walk to his guest. He grabbed his forearms and said in a cheerful tone, "Joy to you, my friend. What has made you come up here, and in this terrible weather too?"

"I wanted some good wine and good conversation, and there's one only tent in the whole of Alèxandros' camp where you can find both, although it means putting your dignity in danger. But you are not alone, I don't want to intrude" said Oxatre, politely greeting the other two Makedonians.

"By all the gods, Oxatre" exclaimed Hephaistion, "Stay please, and save me from this nuisance!"

Ptolemàios snapped, doing nothing to conceal his anger towards the younger man, "A nuisance! When we are here doing our best to get you out the bloody mess you're in!"

Hephaistion only smirked and rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, as if he had had enough.

Leònnatos brusquely turned to the Persian: "Oxatre, maybe you've been sent here by Pallàs Athenà. You are a wise man, and with your help we may manage to knock some sense into that mulish head."

Oxatre looked from one to another, not knowing what to think, even less what to say.

Hephaistion just laughed, and waved to his page to fetch more wine and a cup for the Persian, who was led to a comfortable couch near one brazier. Oxatre followed the Hipparch, a puzzled look on his face.

'This really doesn't make sense...' he said to himself, accepting the cup and sipping the watered wine.

The older Somatophylakes were looking hopefully at him, but all the Persian could do was shake his head, signaling to the two men that he did not understand what was going on.

Ptolemàios snorted, like a bull preparing itself to attack. "This stubborn, pig-headed, arrogant, conceited asshole doesn't want to listen to reason! We've been here for what seems like hours, trying to persuade him..."

"To do what?" Hephaistion burst abruptly, finally losing his temper. "To trample on my dignity! To grovel at his feet like a servant, a _guilty_ servant! To let everyone know that Hephaistion Amyntoros is a coward and a toady! No, my friends, that shall never happen!"

His face was red with an anger that he had probably been withholding for hours, and he was nervously gesticulating. His cup was thrown to the side, colliding with a jar and then rolling on the floor, making a noise that made Oxatre flinch. The two Makedonians stood as still as statues, and his pages rushed in from outside the chamber, but were brusquely dismissed by a firm wave of his hand.

Everyone could see rage in Hephaistion's features, yet still he didn't raise his voice. He was good at that, famous for it, even. When it came to arguing, he was the one who stayed cold, speaking soft and lethal words. If you ever heard Hephaistion yelling, you could be sure he was either scolding his men or having fun with someone, feigning rage.

Even to Krateròs, right before Alèxandros had rushed between them and ruined everything in his own indignation, Hephaistion had merely hissed words that made the older man go crazy, and that was when he had unsheathed his sword. Hephaistion did the same, and that was how Alèxandros found them: on guard and ready to attack.

Hephaistion breathed heavily, trying to regain his composure. He lowered his head, gathering his thoughts, and ran his fingers through his long, curly hair several times. He then raised his head to look to Ptolemàios and apologized, a bitter tone in his voice: "I'm sorry, my friend. I know your intentions are good. But I can't, you have to understand that I simply cannot go to him and ask for forgiveness. I'd rather be sentenced to death."

Leònnatos growled and put a hand on the younger Makedonian's shoulders "And you will be, you have to remind yourself that you're risking your life."

"But I'm saving my honor. Besides, I don't really think I'm in any danger of being killed. You forget something, my friends," and saying this, he sprawled on another couch, disregarding the chair, which a page moved near a table.

Deeply focused on the conversation, which he was starting to gather together some information from, Oxatre was pretending to be invisible, but suddenly he sneezed, loudly. The three of them looked at him, a little puzzled, remembering all of a sudden that he was there.

Ptolemàios recovered first and immediately began to speak, but was sternly interrupted by Hephaistion, who stated with a plain voice: "See, my friend, what's going on: they are trying to convince me to act like a minion. And I simply won't do it."

Oxatre was starting to regret he had come, as now Ptolemàios and Leònnatos were looking at him, expecting his judgment. He was stuck between two fires. His instinct was to yell that it was simply Hephaistion's duty to kneel down to his King and humbly accept whatever punishment he chose. After all, he was _the King. _

But he had been in this army for long enough to know that it was not so simple when it came to Makedonians, and that it was even more difficult with Alèxandros and Hephaistion. And he knew Hephaistion's stubbornness well enough to know for sure that he wouldn't comply with his friends' advice if he thought his honor could be damaged. He knew he couldn't tell him to go and apologize to Alèxandros. And on the other hand, he didn't want to disappoint the other Somatophylakes, admitting Hephaistion was right.

His mind was racing, trying to find a solution to the dilemma. He clung to Hephaistion's words, trying to find a diversion. "What do they forget?"

Hephaistion smiled wickedly. "Did you attend Ptolemàios' big party last night?" he asked, instead of answering "They say Thais sung a very moving ancient Athenàios song."

Oxatre was glad that Hephaistion himself offered the diversion that was needed, and didn't care if his question wasn't answered. So Oxatre politely praised both the party and Ptolemàios' mistress, adding that the song was so involving that many hardened soldiers had tears in their eyes. Ptolemàios had a look in his eyes, as though he wasn't particularly enjoying the conversation, but he thanked the Persian nonetheless. Leònnatos simply turned his head to the brazier, and slowly, resignedly, shook his head.

"And tell me, my dear friend, did our almighty king enjoy it as well, or was he already drunk practically beyond consciousness?"

Oxatre was taken aback by the question. What was he supposed to answer? He looked pleadingly to the older Somatophylakes, after all, they had been there, they knew, and they could tell themselves exactly what the king had been like the previous night.

"Come on, Hephaistion, do you really need to ask?" blurted Ptolemàios angered by Hephaistion's blatant amusement at how very changed Alexander had been of late, as opposed to the merry king they had known for so long "You know perfectly well."

"Oh, no, my friend, I don't know anything. I wasn't even there. How could I know?" he said with feigned innocence.

"Cut it, now, you moron! Do you want us to speak the words aloud to you? Here's to you" Leònnatos yelled abruptly, raising his cup to him "Hephaistion son of Amyntor, the greatest damned arrogant, uppish, stupid jerk that the Gods ever sent to earth to bother us all! Alèxandros is behaving like he has lost his mind, he isn't eating, he isn't riding, he isn't listening to his officers, he isn't even drinking, or, at least, not as much as before, he... by the Gods, he is barely _speaking_!"

That made Hephaistion's eyes shine wickedly "He _isn't_ speaking? By Hermès, messenger of the Gods, then the matter must be really serious"

"Oh, Diònisos be merciful, what's the point in this, when everybody knows that he is always like this when you two argue? " asked an exasperated Ptolemàios as he let himself fall on the same couch upon which Hephaistion was stretched, forcing him to sit up.

Hephaistion didn't bother to show any consideration for his long-life friend. He addressed the Persian, instead, and smiled his sarcastic smile. "That's what they forget. They forget that he is lost without me. _He is nothing without me._ He knows. He would never harm me" he raised his hand, to stop the objection he could foresee all too clearly "_Especially _afterwhat happened with Klèitos."

A tense silence fluttered in the tent.

Oxatre couldn't help but asking, greatly worried, "But there are many in this army who would be pleased if you disappeared. Doesn't it seem reasonable to fear that, now that the King is not protecting you any more" Hephaistion smiled, amused by the witty paraphrase "Someone could take his chance? Even your men are worried. I've noticed it"

Hephaistion let a sincere, warm smile stretch his lips. "They're loyal, good people, I know they are worried."

"Aren't you, my friend?"

Hephaistion just shrugged. "They are forgetting, too"

Oxatre looked at him questioningly. The Makedonian produced a little mocking smile. "I'm not in danger. You have seen that the king is upset, anybody can see it. This means he still cares about me. It's a matter of time, and he'll come back to me. No one would dare harm me while they know things can be fixed between us."

"So" said Oxatre "You seem to have the entire situation under control."

Ptolemàios and Leònnatos snorted in unison, the former raising himself from the couch to resume his nervous pacing.

Hephaistion shrugged again. "It's always been like this, ever since we were two boys in Pella. They know it as well as I do. He goes crazy, we argue, he hurts me, I go away, he seeks me, we fight, we make peace. Until the next time he goes crazy." his voice was monotonous, but Oxatre could sense a hint of bitterness to his words.

The Persian nodded in response, not daring to voice his thoughts. The Makedonian nodded, too. He stared at the fire for a while, motionless, and with a tiny smile on his lips. Then he sighed.

"Oxatre, my friend, you seem puzzled. What is bothering you?"

"To tell you the truth, I think we are more worried about your situation than you are"

"We are, by Zeus, because he's the most imbecilic, dumb-ass, self-defeating..." Leònnatos wanted to give another contribution to the conversation, but Hephaistion simply silenced him with a look, then came back to focus on his cup.

They were well into their cups by now, and Oxatre knew the Makedonians' costumes all too well to let himself hope they would stop drinking any time soon.

"In other words" Hephaistion looked like he was having the time of his life "You are wondering why I am not upset, having heard my king lessen me in front of the whole army and that damn ugly old goat."

"Are you not?"

"Of course I am. I'm mad at him."

Oxatre couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What?"

"I'm tremendously mad at him. Oh, I know he had to reprehend us, it was simply his duty; I would have done the same. But, by Zeùs Ammon and all the Gods, he dared to scold _me _before _my men,_ and he said nothing _to him. _Do you understand? He humiliated _me, his Pàtroclos,_ and let him go to his tent without a word." he raised his hand in a brusque gesture, to stop Ptolemàios reply "I don't give a damn if he rebuked him in private. But he didn't say a single damn word _to him, _in front of our men! No, I will never forgive him. Never can I forget such an affront. _He_ is the one who should apologize! As a matter of fact, I'm so mad that I've not even spoken to him since it happened, and I immediately had my unit's camp moved as far from his as humanly possible."

"But you don't look mad at all!"

"Well I am, and truth be told I'm sick and tired of being mad at him. And truth be told again, I'm not sure if I want us to make peace this time." He emptied his cup, and waved for his page to refill it.

His words froze the three men.

"I'm sick and tired. That's the plain and simple fact." Hephaistion repeated, his mind as clear as if he had been drinking naught but water all night.

The two older Makedonians looked at each other in alarm. They could understand rage. They could understand pride. They could understand Hephaistion wanting to punish Alèxandros, (he had gone too far this time; they wouldn't admit it aloud, but it could be read it in their eyes). But they were terrified to hear those words coming from their friend. He had always been the strongest among them. Many hated him, envious that Alèxandros had chosen him to stand by his side, but Ptolemàios and a few others simply accepted Hephaistion's excellence, instead admiring him.

They had witnessed what he had been enduring, because of his closeness to the king. They knew Hephaistion was ambitious, of course, but they believed he deserved what he had achieved.

For his part, Oxatre had feared that Hephaistion would have been crushed by pain and anger, and, earlier that night, he had thought that he didn't want to confront his king and beloved simply for those reasons alone. But what he saw before him was not a man in pain. This was a man full of resentment, and yes, that was the word, tired.

That shocked him. Since the very first day that he had joined Alèxandros' army, he had been aware that Hephaistion was the main pillar of the Makedonian Empire.

_Oxatre was introduced to the Makedonian king almost without formalities. That was utter nonsense for him, accustomed to the complicated etiquette of the Persian court. To be allowed to meet the Great King was so difficult and took so much time, that outside the Royal Palace a rich business of homes to rent and secretaries who helped with the bureaucracy flourished, in all the cities in which the King chose to reside. But when he arrived at Ecbatana, he found that to meet the "yahuna" ("the Greek," as Alèxandros was nicknamed at the Persian court)__,__ was incredibly easy._

_He had mourned his brother, the Great King, for a while, nursing his intentions of revenge against the cowardly traitors that had slaughtered Darèius without shame. But how to get to Besso and prevail over him? Uxii and Susians, the soldiers he had led into battle at Gaugamela, had been dispersed after the defeat and flight. He could count on a hundred or so faithful soldiers, but Besso had all the people of the Battria behind him, dreaming of ruling over Persia... He needed a strong, powerful ally._

_The idea had struck him like a thunder. Why not him? Why not the young, bewildering king storming from the west, the one who had overturned a secular empire with the force of a hurricane? He had caused his brother's defeat, he had an army, he had the power, he was going to be the Great King... he was the one who could get him his vengeance._

_He stood in front of the throne, seeing in a momentary delusion his brother seated on it. But the moment passed, and he blinked, his eyes focusing on a blond boy, wearing a white, short and quite simple tunic and a golden band around his forehead. He was glaring at him with a dignified but not pompous look, waiting for him to do his next move. So this boy was Alèxandros. This small, silent and, by the Gods, kingly boy was the one who had crushed his world into tiny pieces. He made his proskìnesis to him, knowing in his heart that he was bowing to a worthy king. _

_When he rose, Alèxandros was warmly smiling at him. He knew that this act meant that he was acknowledged as the king. He also knew that the submission was to be followed by a request and he was willing to comply with it. He respected dignity and loyalty; he had admired Oxatre's bravery on the battlefield, and he could feel how much courage it had taken for Oxatre to submit to him. He spoke for the first time, calling an old Persian from behind the throne and asking him, in Greek, to greet the guest and welcome him. "Forgive my impertinence, mighty king, but I speak a suitable amount Greek."_

_The king smiled, clearly pleased, nodded, and suddenly turned to his right. Oxatre followed his gaze, and saw that Alèxandros had searched for__the eyes of a man sitting on a couch very close to the throne. He was not much more than a boy himself, a very tall and handsome man, who reciprocated the king's smile. Alèxandros then properly welcomed his guest, offering a seat, some wine and fruit that a servant brought to him. It was all simple, austere, not refined at all, but in a way the Persian took comfort from this. The Makedonian wasn't mocking the pomp of the former king, and that spoke of strength and self-assurance. Yes, he thought, he was the right man for the job._

_Reassured, Oxatre politely complimented Alèxandros for his victories and assured him of his and his men's loyalty. The King nodded, thanked the Persian and leaned to the man on his right, and the man whispered something in his ears. He smiled warmly at him, turned again to Oxatre and told him, with a hint of emotion in his voice, that he intended to avenge the unworthy death of Darèius, and wanted to ask the former king's brother to help him. Then the king__smiled again to his Makedonian adviser and received a beaming grin in return._

_Oxatre had to push back tears of gratitude. This young and astonishing foreign boy had granted him his greatest wish, before having even been asked. He could tell without any doubt that he owed all this to the tall young man on the king's right, and who was now looking at the floor, as if he had no involvement in the conversation._

_It was at that precise moment that Oxatre knew he was following Alèxandros__,__ wherever he should lead him. And it was at the same precise moment that he understood who the other young man was. There could be no doubt: he was Alèxandros, too._

1 **Even if my historical sources aren't concordant, I assume he was Dareius's brother, who joined Alèxandros' army, becoming an Hetàiros; later Krateròs married his daugther**.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, Hephaistion..." said Leònnatos, unable to cope with the tension he felt in the air "You can't be serious. You know he needs you..."

Hephaistion laughed bitterly. "Oh, I know. And he knows, too. And, worst of all, he knows that I know." he nervously fidgeted for a while, then he added "That's why he periodically goes crazy. He knows he depends on me, and sometimes he just can't bear it. So he has to hurt me, to show that he doesn't need me. Then, he repents." he took another sip of wine, his eyes cast down to the carpet "I just got fed up with the whole pattern. I can't stand it anymore."

Oxatre didn't feel like speaking, not knowing what he could possibly say. But Hephaistion sighed heavily, and then blurted: "No, I'm not going to him. Eventually, he will come to me. He'll always come. Then we will fight, and this time I'll hit him to the ground. I swear I'll do it. And I'm not going to forgive him this time. And that's final."

An awkward silence fell over the four men. Hephaistion stayed in his couch, staring at the fire in the brazier, his cup in his right hand. Oxatre felt like he was intruding, and Ptolemàios seemed to have lost all his eloquence. Leònnatos looked like he was on the verge of bursting into tears at any moment. To keep themselves in countenance they kept on sipping their wine, though Oxatre was certain that was an awful idea. They all looked as they had already had too much.

The Persian was thinking hard. He cared for Hephaistion, he wanted to help him through his current ordeal, but at the moment he couldn't find anything to say to lighten the mood. What the Makedonian had said was terrible: he had refused his role as Pàtroclos. He had said he was tired. He had said that...

A laughter coming from Ptolemàios cut off his thoughts. The Somatophylax had abruptly burst into fits of laughter, reduced to tears of mirth. Hephaistion raised his head questioningly, and Leònnatos watched the scene with a dumb expression, waiting to understand what was going on.

Stuttering in between the laughs, Ptolemàios tried to explain something, but he had to lean on the table so as to stand upright, his legs weakened both by the wine and the excess of hilarity, which was so contagious that the younger companions started to chuckle too, without even knowing the reason why.

Ptolemàios tried again to speak, and this time a stifled "...his face... priceless" was heard, while he was hitting the table with his open hand, as if hoping this would help him control his emotional fit.

Hephaistion seemed to get the clue all of a sudden, because he too burst into a hearty laugh that made his entire body shake, and unawares he poured some wine from his cup, staining the precious carpet on the floor. Leònnatos still didn't have any idea of what was going on, but couldn't help laughing raucously as well.

Oxatre frowned.

'Makedonians! As hard as they can try to be noblemen, they remain boors,' he thought. Even Hephaistion, the more refined and distinguished among all the Makedonians he had met (including, may the gods forgive him, the king himself), the more accustomed to the Persian etiquette, was now grossly jerking in his couch, trying to gather his breath enough to speak, and managing to release only undignified squeaks.

Insulting.

But, eventually, he was unwillingly drawn in by the changed mood, and a tiny smile appeared on his lips. Ptolemàios finally took a deep breath and walked to Hephaistion, patting a hand on his shoulder.

"I really thank you, lad. You made me a happy man for a while. Gods, his face when he heard you ..."

"Oh, I won't brag, I'm only graciously accepting your compliments," the younger man managed to exhale, in a thin voice, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

Oxatre couldn't stand it any more. "Would you gentleman care to let me know what's it all about?" he asked with all the haughtiness he could gather in front of the slovenly men.

Hephaistion turned to him. "Oh, he was just recalling the... incident," he said, with a wicked smile.

Ptolemàios sat on the couch again, choosing a comfortable position, and started to tell his tale. He liked to be the one to tell the tales.

"Well, Krateròs had been searching for Hephaistion all morning, but our friend here was nowhere to be found. He wanted to speak to him about... about what, exactly?" he asked him.

Hephaistion waved absently his hand: "He wasn't happy with some arrangement about supplies. I really can't remember precisely what the problem was."

"Come on, Hephaistion... what was the _real_ problem? We all know that he couldn't care less about supplies!"

Hephaistion shook his head, suggesting he didn't know. But Leònnatos put his word in. "He was mad about that page of his."

"What page?" The older Somatophylax wanted to know eagerly.

"The little curly-haired boy, the one Krateròs has a crush on," explained a very smug Leònnatos, proud to be the most informed on the matter.

Ptolemàios thought he had already figured out the situation. He turned to the Hipparch and frowned to him: "You bedded him." It was not a question.

Hephaistion shrugged, giving the impression that he didn't care. "What if I did?"

Ptolemàios felt like scolding him. "What is it about you, Hephaistion Amyntoros, that you keep on getting into trouble? Haven't you enough pages of your own to sleep with?"

Hephaistion laughed, like he was enjoying the moment. "Ah, but that boy was... Like Yacynthus in front of Febos. Adorable. And, of course, the knowledge that this could annoy Krateròs added a lot of ... spice to the opportunity, if you understand what I mean."

Oxatre, meanwhile, was asking all his Persian gods for forgiveness, feeling uneasy with his friends' undignified manners. He had been in this army for years, but he still couldn't get entirely used to the Makedonians' lack of restraint when it came to sexual behavior.

"By all the Gods, you are impossible. I think you slept with the whole army," added Ptolemàios, pretending to be angry with the younger man, but having the time of his life teasing him.

Hephaistion closed his eyes, shaking his head. "That's completely false. I have never slept with you, for example."

Ptolemàios resumed his hearty laughter, drinking a toast to his friend, but when he was about to speak and thank his friend for the consideration, he suddenly stopped, struck by a sudden thought; he turned to Leònnatos and his eyebrows rose in astonishment. The other man stood silently near the table, and he looked like he was extremely focused on his wine, his cheeks and ears cheery-red and an air of embarrassment lingering about him.

Ptolemàios turned abruptly to Hephaistion with an inquisitive look in his eyes. The Hipparch just shrugged again, dismissing the matter, as far as he was concerned.

The older Somatophylax was really having fun, and he laughed again, slapping Hephaistion on the back and causing him to pour more wine on the carpet. "By Aphrodite, I think I can agree with Krateròs after all. You truly _are_ a whore!"

"Wrong again. I'm truly the_ best _whore ever."

They laughed in unison and Ptolemàios was about to tell Hephaistion what he thought about his outrageous behavior, when a voice was heard in within the laughter: "The best _Athenian_ whore" it was Oxatre's attempt to join the joke.

Silence fell like a sudden frost in the tent. Ptolemàios looked at the Persian guest with his eyes wide open, while Leònnatos closed his. As for Hephaistion, he slowly turned his head to Oxatre, his own eyes narrowed and cold as ice.

"What?" he asked, his voice colder than his eyes.

Oxatre immediately realized he had made some colossally foolish error, and wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole. He knew that many feared Hephaistion, but had never before truly understood why. But now that he was on the receiving end of his cold, dreadful fury, he felt like the cold wing of Death had grazed him.

He tried his best to figure out how to renege what he had said, but he couldn't, so he merely produced a sheepish, hesitant smile.

Hephaistion's voice was a sharp knife: "I am not Athenian." his eyes burnt with a liquid, cold, ancient anger.

Oxatre stuttered: "I'm sorry. But...since the first day I joined this army, I have been hearing most people saying that you were from Athens, and when those envoys came from there, they called you a fellow citizen, so I thought..."

_"Here comes the Athenian bastard with the king!" _

_"Athenian asshole...!" _

_"What does the Athenian scum want from me this time?" _

_"After all he's only a treacherous Greek from Athens..." _

_"Why didn't he and his family stay back there in Athens?" _

_"Does any Athenian slut suit a Makedonian king?" _

And those were only some of the words that had been whispered towards the son of Amyntor. Oxatre didn't understand why the fact that Hephaistion was from that town bothered the Makedonians so much.

He couldn't know that back in Makedonia, only pure Makedonians could be rewarded with a title and have a rank. Strangers, even Greeks, could reach important levels in society, but they would never be considered equals to Makedonians (1). By calling Hephaistion "Athenian", they all tacitly implied that he was unworthy of his achievements, and that he had obtained them in Alèxandros' bed.

But unfortunately Oxatre never asked for explanations, for he didn't feel they were needed. After all, as Athenian as Hephaistion might be, he was Alèxandros, too...

"I am Makedonian!" Hephaistion's hissing voice scraped the air, and his skin reddened with the force of his unleashed rage. The wine sloshed about in his cup as he spoke. "_I_ was born in Pella, _my father_ was born in Pella and _my grandfather_ was born in Pella! I shed my _damn Makedonian _blood for _my damn Makedonian country _a million times, I've been with that _damn Makedonian king_ for years, and cursed be all the Makedonians,_ I – am – Makedonian!_"

Even if he was overwhelmed by Hephaistion's fury, Oxatre found himself wondering why the thought of being the biggest whore in the world didn't bother the young man at all, making him proud instead... while he took such great offence to be called Athenian.

'I will never understand how their minds work...' he said to himself disconsolately, as he humbly apologized to his friend, trying to explain that it was purely the fault of his ignorance.

Meanwhile, Ptolemàios reached up Hephaistion to put a friendly hand on his shoulder, "We know, Hephaistion," he said, with a soothing voice.

But the Hìpparchos had already drunk too much "You don't know! Nobody knows, you don't, nor Leònnatos, nor the others in this damn army. Not even the damn king himself! I always had to be the best, the strongest, the wisest and the most shameless to gain my right to be among you, like I wasn't one of you from the day of my birth! And cursed be all the Athenians for giving my father that damn citizenship!(2) Who asked them? When that's the reason why that arrogant, spoiled and unworthy moron of a king feels like he has the right to say that I am nothing without him... because everybody thinks I am nothing but an _Athenian_ whore!"

Hephaistion was breathing heavily after the emotional outburst, and this was the only sound to be heard in the tent, as none dared to break the tense silence. He rubbed his face hard with a hand, and paced a few times from the brazier to the opposite side of the chamber.

The Makedonian had always been the life and the death of the party, as Oxatre had all too often witnessed: he could remember a highly drunk Hephaistion jumping on and off couches and molesting dancers and flute players with his advances, surrounded by the roars of laughter of his friends, true or supposed.

But when he was in a bad mood, he had the influential ability to affect the whole company with his behavior. The same thing was happening now: the three men paralyzed with discomfort by the bad temper of their host.

Oxatre hadn't been at a Great Persian King's court for years in vain. He knew it was time to get in a new subject in order to relieve the tension, thus allowing time for the upset Makedonian regain his composure.

His mind was working frenetically to find a suitable topic for conversation: horses, of course, women, perhaps the last battle... no, signaled his mind, absolutely not anything that can be related in some way to the following subjects: kings, honor, self-assurance, fights, Athens... 'Horses, then.' he decided. It could work.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, Hephaistion, who had meanwhile taken his place on his couch and had emptied his cup again, unexpectedly sneered, stretching his long legs and crossing his ankles.

"Anyway, it had been a while since someone last called me _Athenian whore_. It was refreshing, in a way. It was like to be young again. Surely Krateròs, let Hades take him right now, didn't say that to amuse me. But I was enjoying a good old fashioned fight. Until that pathetic excuse for a king came and fucked it all up, that is." he closed his eyes, and smiled at a memory only he could see. His mood appeared to have become jovial again.

Oxatre flinched a little in his couch, hearing how he had addressed the king as, but wisely chose not to pay attention to it.

Ptolemàios finally relaxed, waving to the page for more wine. "And that's why you answered that way... just to thank him."

Hephaistion smirked. "I'm afraid I wanted him to go crazy, instead. I wanted him to hold his damn sword and attack me. So I could slice him into tiny pieces and get finally rid of him. But I forgot something."

_"That's enough, you filthy Athenian whore!" _

_Men were beginning to circle them, like a pack of wolves watching two strong rivals challenging each other for domination. Cries of encouragement could be heard, the men splitting to form two distinctly different groups, each supporting their favourite champion. They could smell blood. _

_Hephaistion, as usual, remained cold and calculating. He didn't lose his mind, and instead stared proudly into his opponent's eyes. Then he produced his sarcastic smile, and, with his best imitation of a rattle snake, he hissed: "How original of you. But you are right; that I am. And I am good at it, do you know why?"_

_An ethereal silence lingered among the crowd, drawing the men closer to the centre, hushing one another excitedly._

_Deep in his heart, Krateròs knew he shouldn't answer. His reason was desperately begging him to let the other man alone, or alternatively to knock him down without further delay... Do anything, just do NOT listen to him!_

_But his amygdala won the battle and boldly he bellowed, "Because you belong to a brothel more than to an army, always have done and always will!" _

_The crowd roared. _

_Hephaistion didn't move a muscle, and, the consummate actor, he waited, smiling that sardonic smile of his. The men realized he hadn't answered yet, so little by little they hushed again, waiting for his reply. They knew for sure it would be a good one._

_"Undoubtedly" said Hephaistion in a clear, calm voice as soon as there was silence again "It has been my dream since youth, that's why I asked for your mother's help. She taught me all I know, and she taught me well" _

_The crowd remained immobile and quiet for a moment. They all knew that Krateròs' smaller sister was born a year and a half after his father had left on a campaign against the northern tribes. Proud as he was, his shame on that event had always been his major weakness. Hephaistion had hit the mark, straight and sharp. _

_Suddenly a soldier, one of Hephaistion's party, screamed, "Well done, Hipparch!" And within seconds the pack was howling again, desperate for the taste of blood._

_Krateròs had lost his mind. Shame and rage overwhelmed his reason. With his cheeks on fire, he cried, as if mortally wounded and unsheathed his sword, ready for the kill. He was so blinded by fury that he barely noticed the glinting, devilish smile on his rival's face._

_Hephaistion took up his sword, too. He knew perfectly well that Krateròs was too angry: it would be ridiculously easy to overpower him. His teeth flashed in an arrogant, evil smile._ _He didn't really want to kill him, only humiliate him and claim his well deserved revenge for all the nuisance that the man had forced him through over the last fifteen years._

_It was the moment he had __been expecting since he was but a teen in Pella. Hephaistion's smile widened, and he raised his sword, ready to break his opponent's distracted guard._ _At that moment he became suddenly aware of the thunder of horse's hooves hit__ting the ground, approaching them._

_"No!" he silently shouted " Not now! You won't steal my vengeance __from__ me!"_

1 **R. Lane Fox, ch. 3.**

2 **W. Heckel, "The Marshals of Alexander's Empire", p.59**


	3. Chapter 3

"What was it that you forgot?" an almost slobbering Ptolemàios awoke Hephaistion from his day-dreaming. He bitterly shook his head.

"I forgot that Alèxandros likes that man, only the gods know why. He would never allow me to reduce Krateròs' Makedonian ass to pieces. In fact, he didn't."

He sipped from his cup again. He should have been stone-cold drunk by this time, but his voice was still firm and he still seemed to be very much himself.

"Come on" continued Ptolemàios "You know why."

Hephaistion snorted. Oxatre wanted desperately to know more on the subject, and was trying to compose a polite question, but Ptolemàios anticipated him. "Oxatre, you know, Alèxandros likes the man because he is ..."

"...a rotten bootlicker and the most rugged stinker that can be found in the whole known world," interrupted Hephaistion, the look on his face reminiscent of sniffing the stench of the army latrine.

"Now you're unfair" a munching Ptolemàios objected "You know the man is a very good soldier and commander, and that he loves our king. Plus" he turned to Oxatre again, aware that he may not know all the implications of the feud "He comes from Orestìs, a land closely linked to Olympias and her family. Alèxandros has a great respect for him."

"And Krateròs knows it, that's why he's always getting in my way. I know what he whispers in Alèxandros' ear, that I'm not as skillful a warrior as he is; that I should be left to take care of the Royal harem... I guess it's his fault I am yet to be officially announced as the king's second in command. And he's so irritating, always harping on about the ancient customs and Makedonian supremacy..."

"You know, Hephaistion, my friend" interjected Oxatre, this time well aware of the matter "As much as I thank you for your openness about my own culture, the old guard is still a major force in this army and, after what's happened with poor Klèitos, the king must show them respect and consideration."

Hephaistion couldn't help but puffing. "I know it all so well. Those old nitwits think they are still back in Pella, arguing with the highlanders for some herd of sheep... And we have to listen to them and cherish them... I hate politics, sometimes."

Ptolemàios laughed: "No, you don't, son. You were born to be in politics. And you adore it."

The younger man nodded, smiling. "You seem to know me better than I do," he answered to his friend in a warmer tone.

"I wonder" reflected Leònnatos "Who was the one that informed the king..."

To Oxatre's utter disgust, Hephaistion spat on the floor. "It was that painted, ridiculous tart. I saw him waddling around before Krateròs approached me. He must have run like hell to his adored king, eager to thrust his pretty abused ass in the air before him in that damned proskìnesis (sorry, Oxatre) and spread his venom at his feet. I can almost hear him speaking."

Hephaistion graciously blinked several times and started mocking Bagoas' high-pitched voice and thick Persian accent "Oh, halmighty kreat ging of ging, pleaze comee... De Lort Epaistion and de lort Grateròs are nearlee gilling each oder... pleaze..."(1)

Ptolemàios and Leònnatos were splitting their sides with laughter, and even Oxatre laughed at the excellent imitation. He was relaxing, little by little, affected by the loosened mood, his mind unbridled by the strong wine he was drinking. Lately, this was happening more and more frequently, when he was with his Makedonian friends, and he had started to think that they were leading him onto a very wrong track.

He let himself go, joining the laughter and enjoying the entertainment of a very skillful Hephaistion, mimicking the way the young eunuch kept on smoothing his hair behind his ears.

When they were done having fun at the poor boy's expense, they realized they were in need of food. Hephaistion called a page and gave the orders, and noises could be heard through the tent's leather walls, of pottery and whispered words.

Meanwhile, more wine was being sipped from cups, and the four men in the warm chamber felt blissfully at ease and comfortably fuzzy.

Ptolemàios resumed the subject. "Oxatre, you probably never heard of how the whole _Athenian whore_ thing began..."

Hephaistion let his body settle on his couch, as much as the massive presence of his friend allowed him, and cleared his throat. "Well, I don't think our guest here is really interested in it..."

Oxatre was, however, very interested indeed. He was eager to know about the Hipparch's past. He knew very little about his childhood over in Makedonia. So he begged the young man to tell how it happened that he became an _Athenian _whore.

Hephaistion smiled, changing his position on the cushions, and waited for his pages to fetch some bread, cheese, fruit and honey. He waved the youngest, a boy of about 14, to rekindle the braziers and fetch the jar of wine. He dismissed the pages, assuring them they wouldn't be needed anymore. Oxatre noticed a hint of dislike on the youngest page's face. He smiled to himself. He was a young, gorgeous boy that had surely shared his master's bed several times now. Hephaistion loved beauty, and he wasn't one to leave to others what he could so easily claim for himself. The boy was clearly disappointed to be dismissed, he had probably hoped to stay the night. But discipline is discipline, so he wished the four men health and left with a bow.

"As you may have guessed, my ancestors were actually from Athens" Hephaistion helped himself to some bread. "That's why in my family, we all have these Athenian names. I was named by the temple of Hèphaistos, the one facing the Agora. I used to complain with my father, why hadn't he named me Perdìkkas, or Amyntas, or even Alèxandros? All my friends constantly teased me for that strange name of mine."

"Come on, you have to agree, it's such a weird name!" laughed Ptolemàios, chewing some exotic fruit, the name of which he probably wasn't able to tell.

"Yes, but at least I'm not mistaken for about a million other guys" retorted Hephaistion "But I'm rambling...Well, then, I was about twelve or thirteen when I went with my father to Athens, with a diplomatic delegation sent by King Philip (2). He sent my father among the envoys, because, due to our Athenàios origins, we had some relatives living there, and he hoped that it could help to fix things with those stubborn people. We stayed there almost a year, I assisted the debates, and I heard Demosthenes' speeches."

"I learned a lot about diplomacy, in those months, and I learned a lot about myself, too. As a matter of fact, I was in the age when boys become men. And it turned out that I was quite attractive...to cut matters short, in the end the son of the richest man in Athenian offered me to be his eròmenos. They do things that way, over there. An older one and his little boy. (3)" he stopped talking for a moment, focusing on the silent shape of Leònnatos, whose cup was dangerously tilted. "Are you sleeping, Leònnatos?"

Shaken by the almost yelled words of his friend, Leònnatos shook away his lethargy and smiled. "No, of course, how could I sleep when I'm going to finally find out the truth about your debauched life? Please, go on, let us know your stunts..."

Hephaistion didn't pay him any more attention, and quietly resumed his tale: "Well, this Agathon was quite cute, and I said to myself, what if I try? I refused to bind myself in that eròmenos-erastès thing, anyway, because I wanted to go home as soon as possible, but I had my sexual education right there and then. You laugh, my friend, I know what you're thinking: we Greek are perverted..."

"I'm not thinking anything like that!" protested Oxatre. He knew he should be indignant; however he couldn't help but be incredibly interested in his host's story.

"You are! I can tell from that shocked look on your face. I know what you Persians think about two men together... But if I could tell you... No, no, I'm not going to ramble again, so, straight to my farewell to Agathon and my return to Pella, where I was supposed to become a page to King Philip. You can imagine that within two days from my arrival the entire town knew what had happened with Agathon. One day, during a wrestle contest, I defeated Kàssandros, the current Regent's older son, and in revenge he called me _Athenian whore_. It has been an everlasting success since then."

"But you Makedonians are so proud of your scandalous demeanor, what was wrong with you sleeping with a man?" asked Oxatre, amused.

"Ah, he wasn't a just a man, he was an enemy, an Athenian. Besides, Makedonian court was... I should say, _is_, highly competitive. We were like a pack of wolves, all trying to become the alpha. And Kàssandros could see, crystal clear, that I was a threat to him. He was trying to become the little prince's best friend, and he wanted to get rid of any possible rival."

Hephaistion shook his head, chuckling. "The funny thing is that I couldn't have been less interested in Alèxandros at first. He was simply an insipid brat in my opinion, ruined by the harsh training done with that ogre, Leonidas, and obsessed with the need to be the best in everything he did. In a word: annoying. To be honest I found much greater interest in sweet Perdìkkas, who liked to follow me in the orchards at night."

Leònnatos nodded vigorously, "I remember his father beating him one day, when he realized he hadn't slept at home... And I also remember Kàssandros fussing about Alèxandros night and day."

"I remember that he informed him, with plenty of details, of your _achievements_", added Ptolemàios, sneering.

"But Kàssandros forgot one thing. More wine, Oxatre?" Hephaistion asked politely.

"Have you watered this wine enough, Hephaistion? I feel a little dazed" replied the Persian, his eyelids feeling as heavy as stone.

"Oh, come on, don't gripe at me. Have another cup. It won't kill you!"

"I hope! How come you can drink all night and still be able to think?"

"Mm…mm, hard training and constant practice, I think."

"Oh, I don't know. I think Makedonian babies suck milk and wine from their mothers' breast. But what did Kàssandros forget? And how came he didn't succeed with Alèxandros?" Oxatre was, by now, really involved in the story. He hardly remembered that he was speaking about the Great King, his -almost- second in command, and the Makedonian regent's son.

"Ah, that poor, poor boy. He forgot that Alèxandros was the most competitive of us all. So when he heard all the commotion about my Athenian experience, and he noticed that I was a target for many lustful glances, he started to look at me in another way. Are you shocked again?"

"Er... no. I think I could have imagined all this." answered Oxatre.

"May be it's only that he doesn't really want to imagine it," teased Ptolemàios.

"Moron."

"Pervert."

"Bigot."

"Asshole."

"All right" Oxatre judged it was time to interrupt the skirmish "What happened then?"

"Er... Yes, Alèxandros started drooling over me. I didn't see it coming. I began my service as a page, and immediately was bedded by King Philip; not the best experience in my life, I can honestly say."

"Now you're joking!"

"Why?" Hephaistion shrugged "He bedded any breathing being within his reach. Why not a young, charming, handsome noble kid? It was what any page expected of him. But Kàssandros tried his blow in trying to lessen me in my favor with Alèxandros, telling him that I was sleeping with everyone at Pella, even with his father. But again, he achieved the opposite goal. Alèxandros decided that this was enough, and that if everybody wanted me, _and above all his father,_ he _had_ to have me at any cost. So he started to openly court me, despite the fact that every other boy was openly courting him."

"Romantic," Oxatre couldn't help but comment.

"Indeed. I was initially taken aback, but then I thought that it could be a great fluke, to be in the prince and future king's favor. I therefore planned my campaign."

"More and more a romance. And I thought it was love at first sight!"

"You have been reading too much poetry. But then I had a problem. If I had to be with him, I needed to be irreplaceable, better than all the wolves in the pack. I studied the others' behavior, and saw how they constantly flattered him, letting him have his way, which pleased him immensely. It still does. But as much as he likes to be pampered, I could see he didn't _really_ trust any of them. So I launched my cavalry and beat him in a wrestling match on the first occasion."

"Is that the Makedonian idea of courting?"

"It's the Makedonian way to get to a prince's heart. At first he was furious, and called me many unrepeatable names. But I stared at him with eyes wide open and my best look of innocence: 'Would you like me to let you win?' A master-stroke, you have to admit it. He couldn't help but apologize, and secretly realize that I was different from the others. First battle won."

Hephaistion was staring in his cup, like he could see scenes from his youth displayed in the wine.

"But at the same time I couldn't help but think that he had been brave, and that he had acknowledged his defeat with dignity. From that day, we started to stroll about for hours, and I had to admit he wasn't as boring as I had first thought him to be. He shared his dreams with me, his love for Homer, whom I loved too, his secret wish to be worthy of his ancestor, Akillèus."

He laughed, self-deprecating: "I knew I shouldn't let my feelings sway me from my purposes, but then, I was only a boy... I won other battles: more and more he searched for my company and accepted that I wouldn't simply say yes to each and every one of his requests. He forgot that he _had_ to have me, and he realized that he _wanted_ me. But his new compliant, sometimes sheepish demeanor made me change the way I viewed him, and besides, as months went by, he became a real beauty, and I started to feel attraction for him."

The Hipparch sighed, like he was admitting a defeat: "So in the end, he won the war. I fell in love with him and his visions of a glorious future world for us to conquer. To end this story, one bright summer night we went to his father's palace garden, and we finally kissed."

_The jasmine flowers emitted a strong and intoxicating scent. The moonlight was strong enough to allow the two boys to find their way through the bushes and plants in the palace's garden. Alèxandros finally found his favorite spot, a bench under a hedge of jasmine. They sat quietly, not daring to break the comforting silence, listening to the crickets' concert, and to the rustling leaves. _

_Alèxandros couldn't withhold his feelings any more. He turned to find his friend's captivating eyes, shining in half-light and once again felt a pang in his chest, like a pain, a delightful pain. "Hephaistion, I... You... What if..." he slurred, trying to find the courage to say the words that remained trapped on his tongue._

_Hephaestion's heart skipped a beat__. __He knew not how, but from some distant knowledge long buried inside him, he realized this task, this first step, was not Alexander's to take. It was not for Alexander to do this, as it was not for Akillèus to; this was the responsibility of Pàtroklos, and as such, was the responsibility of Hephaistion__. _

_He became suddenly aware that this would be his duty forever; that this was the first time, but many times were yet to come. But he had forgotten how to speak, and there was no time to learn again. So, instead, he leaned to Alèxandros and closed his eyes, placing his lips on the other's gently, like a butterfly __resting lightly upon a precious flower. _

_He was about to withdraw, but Alèxandros followed his movements, leaning into him to keep their lips in contact. Hephaistion felt his heartbeat racing, and held him tightly, while their kiss deepened. They were no virgins, but that night they felt like it was the first time they felt desire. Both had had sex before now, but that night they both made love for the first time._

Hephaistion's eyes darkened, the sweetness of this memory embittered by his present situation. He shook his head, and didn't even pretend to be lighthearted when he finished: "And that's how I became Alèxandros' favorite, and the public enemy number one. And I've been so lovestruck ever since that I've been putting up with hate and hostility for a hell of a long time. And for what? Just to come to this land forsaken by the Gods and hear him say that I am nothing!"

He slammed his cup on the table. He had again lost all his cheerfulness.

"What a reward! I've followed him to the edge of the world, I gave up any idea of a life on my own, I suffered all kinds of humiliations with any form of promotion that I was granted, because I was supposed to have gained it in his bed, I accomplished all of his crazy requests... by Athenà, I even bowed before his _mighty majesty_ (sorry, Oxatre...) and all I get in the end is a tent in the mud and a bad mood!"

Oxatre stared at him, feeling innately terrible for his friend.

It was difficult for him to follow Hephaistion's logic. For a Persian, a king was a God, unquestionable, untouchable. At least, almost untouchable.

It was hard for him to think that Hephaistion considered Alèxandros a peer. But with some effort, and thanks to the wine he had drunk, he could just about see the Makedonian's point of view. He had every right to be furious, and in a sudden flash of lucidity he remembered that he himself had expected Hephaistion to be mad at the king.

But then, he had showed rage, tiredness, a placid countenance, cheerfulness and again rage in the space of few hours…he was a little confused by the sudden changes of Hephaistion's mood.

The Hipparch seemed to read his mind. "Oxatre, my friend, you will regret having come so far this night, to hear me talking disrespectfully about the king."

"I never regret being with a friend whom I respect and love. And, besides, I think the King did you wrong. You deserve more than this. May Ahura Mazda forgive me, for daring to criticize the King."

Hephaistion smiled and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. If by any chance there's any God at all, he knows that a king is still a man. No matter if he forgets it. He is still a man." he bowed his head for a while. "Actually…he does sometimes forget this. He forgets that he is only a man. But I remember."

Ptolemàios had remained silent for a while, but hearing the bitterness in Hephaistion's voice, he thought that it was time to lighten the atmosphere. "So, you were in the garden and you kissed. And then who had who?"

"Now who's the pervert? Why do you want to know?" Ptolemàios shrugged, and Hephaistion rolled his eyes. "You made a bet on it! I can't believe it! And whom did you bet with?"

"Perdìkkas," said the older man, glad to share the blame with another.

"That old filthy man... I could take my revenge and tell you what he used to do, over there in the orchards." snorted Hephaistion.

"I don't think I really want to know... and besides, you were the one with him!" Ptolemàios wore a very indignant expression, unable to convince anyone.

"True, that's why I won't tell you anything. And who's on top between me and Alèxandros is none of your business, and I won't tell you, either."

_Sweating body to sweating body, breath to breath, their salty, musky smells mingled in the peculiar scent that was their own. In Hephaistion's strong arms, Alèxandros could let go of all his thoughts and worries. _

_He could forget he had to be perfect, to be the first, the best, to be always the winner. He could cease for a while to be in charge of everything, to have everything under control. He could surrender, allow himself to be weak and take strength from the warm body which pressed against him._

_He could be free._

Leònnatos yawned, stirring in his chair. "And in the end, Kàssandros, with all his scheming and planning, was left behind, in Pella."

"It was your own job, wasn't it, Amyntoros?"

Hephaistion wore an innocent look as he replied: "What? No, it wasn't. I only suggested to Alèxandros that Antìpatros would need a reliable person by his side to rule Makedonia while we were away... and who could be more trustworthy than his own older son?"

Ptolemàios grinned, "We all know where Alèxandros' best ideas come from."

Oxatre was following the conversation, having given up indefinitely on any hope of decency. He decided to intervene."It was then when you became Pàtroclos for his Akillèus?"

Hephaistion rolled his eyes and puffed. "You have no idea of how much this thing annoys me. But he is like a girl in these things. And, to answer to your question, it was after the battle at Chàironeia that he first brought up the subject."

He sadly shook his head. "And it was entirely my fault. We had slaughtered all those fine warriors, and he was in his epic mood. I approached him, and I said him he reminded me of Akillèus himself. I thought it would please him."

He sighed, and closed his eyes. "And of course, it did. He grabbed my arms and stared at me with those lunatic eyes, and told me that Akillèus only fought well because he had his Pàtroclos at his side. Would I like to be Pàtroclos for his Akillèus? I felt a shiver down my spine, and my balls wrinkled."

Oxatre frowned, and Hephaistion at once explained "You know, Pàtroclos died first."

Ptolemàios sneered knowingly, raising his cup in a silent toast.

"What was I supposed to say? Could I answer '_Oh, love, I do not even want to hear it... I won't steal from you the great honor to die young, chasing glory... I'd rather get old and see my grandchildren grow...' _?Of course I couldn't. So I swore I'd be his Pàtroclos for ever. And he liked it. Oh, how he liked it... He even told his mother."

Laughter in unison followed this statement at the thought of Olympias' face at such an announcement.

"But the worst thing was that ridiculous, humiliating ceremony he arranged at Troy. I tried my best to be exempted, but in the end I had to run naked around that cursed tomb and make sacrifices to Pàtroclos' soul... I felt like his soul was really there, sympathizing with me. After all, he knew all too well what it is to be with an insane king."

Everybody laughed, remembering that day in the warm Troàs sun.

Oxatre was really enjoying the talking by now. But a disturbing thought kept buzzing in his head, trying to find its way to consciousness through the alcoholic clouds that filled his mind. He finally found the words: "So, you're saying that you were only complying with his wishes... you didn't _believe_ in it..."

Hephaistion waved his hand, like he wanted to sweep away the uncomfortable feeling from his friend: "Oh, let me explain: I loved the meaning of the ceremony, the fact that he wanted to publicly show his affection for me. But it was _me_ they – he nodded to the other Makedonians – would tease forever. Not _him."_

Ptolemàios nodded as vigorously as his drunkenness would allow: "Ah, but you were such a glorious sight, your naked skin glittering with oil in the sun, and those celebrated thighs tense in the effort of the run... Half of the army drooled after you, and the other half hated you out of envy."

Leònnatos assented, unable to stop yawning, "I was near Klèitos that day, and as hard as he tried he couldn't hide his arousal... I teased him for a while, and in the end he told me: '_You know, Leònnatos, I've never wished to be a king, since today! I'd even run naked three times around those tombs if that meant I could sleep with Kaloi - Meròi tonight ' . _That's what he said."

"Kalòi - Meròi?" Asked a puzzled Oxatre, afraid that his Greek had already dissolved in wine.

"Oh, you _had _to mention it, didn't you, Leònnatos?" Grunted a frowning Hephaistion, but Ptolemàios patted his hand twice upon his friend's thigh, covered by the Persian fabric of his pants. "Come on, take it easy, man, it was that damn philosopher who started it (4). I bet that when he asked Alèxandros to move away, it wasn't because of the sun: he simply wanted to have a better view of your thighs!"

Hephaistion smacked Ptolemàios hand, feigning indignation, while the older Somatophylax explained to Oxatre that Klèitos had had a habit of teasing Hephaistion, calling him "Beautiful thighs".

Hephaistion softly smiled at the thought of the man. Even if, during the last years of the Melas, (5) they were of opposite opinions on the king's policy of integration, he had never ceased to respect and love him.

Many things had they shared: both had been, at some time, a King's favorite, they had to prove their worthiness with their deeds, they sometimes were despised by those who thought they were only sycophants, each one for his own King. And, besides, there were those months in Pella, before Alèxandros claimed Hephaistion for himself...

"_I tell you lad, you're worthy for a king," breathing heavily, covered with sweat and definitely content, Klèitos teased the boy who lay beside him._

_Hephaistion smiled with his eyes still closed, punching the strong shoulder of the man: "Are you suggesting you're a king in bed?" _

_Klèitos suddenly became serious, taking the boy's jaw in his hand. "I'm serious, brat. And it won't be a bed of roses. Remember it, Hephaistion." Hephaistion stared in his eyes and nodded earnestly, silently explaining to the man that he understood. _

_He had never forgotten. And that cursed night, while Klèitos was kneeling, pierced by that spear, he had searched for Hephaistion's eyes, as Hephaestion stared at him in horror. And the younger man was sure he could hear the whispered words bubbling within the blood:_

"_Remember, Hephaistion!"_

The Hipparch sighed, shaking his head. It was over now.

Ptolemàios took another piece of bread, smearing some honey on it. He glanced at Leònnatos, who was nearly dozing on his couch. He swallowed his bread and rose from his seat: "Well, Hephaistion, it's almost dawn, and I think we've taken too great an advantage of your hospitality. Before I leave, I feel obliged to tell you again that I sincerely hope you reconsider your decision."

Hephaistion nodded, smiling, but everyone in the tent knew that he wouldn't change his point of view. Oxatre stood too, and was about to take his leave when a sudden commotion could be heard coming from outside the tent.

A page ran hastily into the inner chamber, panting and looking utterly distraught. "Hephaistion, Hipparch, the king... King Alèxandros is here! He wants... he wants to speak to you!"

Four pairs of eyes immediately fell on the Hipparch. He didn't even flinch on his couch, instead merely staring at the wine stains on the carpet. The only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the bewildered and terrified page. His friends simply kept on staring at him, not daring to interrupt his thoughts.

Finally he seemed to reach a conclusion, and briskly raised his head. He spoke to the page with a calm, quiet voice: "Are there any dried figs left?"

"I... I think there are some, Hipparch" answered the page, obviously worrying for his master's mental health. Figs, when the King was in the antechamber, waiting for an answer?

"Take a plate of them, bring them to the king, and tell him that I want to know if he's asking me or ordering me." The page swallowed hard, but he was well trained and hurried to obey, even if he was possibly on his way to being punished by the king for pure insolence.

Hephaistion stood up, unconsciously fixing his Persian attire and smoothing his hair. He felt the questioning looks from his friends upon him, but shook his head firmly. Waiting for the King's answer, despite his stubbornness, he was tense; he wasn't in the mood for explanations.

They waited for many uncomfortable minutes in total silence. Hephaistion's behavior had surprised all of them, but Ptolemàios was almost sure that there was some form of special meaning behind the gift of figs, one that only the two of them knew about. He waited hopefully.

_Hephaistion silently opened the door. _

_Alèxandros, oblivious to the state of utter confusion that lay around him, was standing ignorantly amongst an array of discarded chitons, scrolls and various objects lying everywhere, with servants running all over the room packing the prince's personal items, as if under the impression he was of an organized nature._

_He was throwing scrolls in the fire of a brazier, casting those, which he chose to keep, onto the bed, from where a servant was taking them to put them in a separate chest. Hephaistion approached the busy prince with a plate of dried figs. "That's all I could gather in the kitchen without being caught... have one. You aren't eating enough." _

_Alèxandros smiled to his friend, took a fig, and began to chew it reluctantly. "You always know what I need, Hephaistion. I will miss you."_

"_No, you won't. My baggage and horses are ready, and I wrote to my father. I guess he will not be surprised at all with what has happened between your father, Attalos and you. We can leave whenever you are ready."_

"_You're not coming with me. I'm in danger; my father could have me killed at any moment. I won't expose you to this danger. I want you safe, here in Pella, to wait for things to get better. My father won't harm you if you are not at my side while I'm away."_

_Hephaistion simply nodded. "And are you asking me, or is this an order?" _

_Alèxandros looked into those bright, sparkling eyes. He could read determination in them, and he knew he should fight to prevail. But he didn't particularly want to prevail, and, besides, he knew it would be unfair to use his power to force Hephaistion to obey. _

"_I'm asking you, because I will never forgive myself if something should happen to you. Please, stay."_

_Hephaistion smiled. "Fine, then. I'll come with you, like Pàtroclos would have done with his own stubborn Akillèus. And I'll tell you just this once, I'll always come with you, whether you want me to or not."_

_"__I know, Hephaistion. And I'll tell you just this once; I'll always want you by my side."_

_Hephaistion smiled softly, as if he could not quite believe the prince's words. Alexander raised a single eyebrow, an encouraging smile uplifting his expression, the glimmer of his eyes dancing with amusement. "I tell a lie. Perhaps I shall not tell you just this once; perhaps I shall simply have to remind you every day."_

"_And, my Pàtroclos, one more thing: I hate dried figs."_

The page appeared at the opening of the chamber, his eyes wide with shock. Hephaistion brusquely nodded, urging him to speak.

The boy stuttered in utter confusion: "The king... the king laughed and now is eating the figs. He said he is asking you, and that you should have known it."

Hephaistion smiled to himself. He then turned to his guests: "I'm afraid, my friends, I have to ask you to leave. I'm going to punch some sense in our almighty king's head. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ptolemàios nodded and stepped near his friend, patting his shoulder. "Are you sure everything's alright? Do you want us to stay to help you?"

Hephaistion smiled brightly. He put his hand on Ptolemàios' arm and thanked him.

"Don't worry, my faithful friend. Everything's going to be alright." He turned to the page and ordered him to let the king in; then he wished his guests health.

They all headed for the exit, but before leaving, Ptolemàios turned to look one last time at Hephaistion. Their eyes locked, and Hephaistion finally nodded. "It's alright. Eventually, he has come."

He threw his friend a bright, confident smile. "Don't worry, he'll have to pay through his nose. I won't let him off. You know me."

And with those parting words, he casually took a seat on the couch, ready to confront the king. The last words Ptolemàios heard were whispered by an absent minded Hephaistion to no one in particular:

"After all, he _didn't_ forget."

1 **I really don't know how the Persian accent could have sound in Greek, so I invented a weird pronounciation...**

2 **In 344 a Makedonian delegation was acually sent by Philip in Athens, but of course I have no way of knowing if Amyntor was in the envoy's number, much less Hephaistion**.

3 **This well know pattern is a typical athenian costume. Makedonians were Dori's descendants and so they followed their tradition, which favored homoerotic relationships between boys, or even man, of about the same age as well. Akillèus and Pàtroklos are the most famous example of that behaviour (Akillèus is likely a "doric" character) ( Fox)**

4** Diogenes to Alèxandros, letter 24**

5 **The Black (Klèitos)**

* * *

><p>AN: I really want to thank my special task force, **Zophiel Lagace** and **Yumemakura**, for their loving care and support, and **ArwenJanetLylyLyra** for her precious help.


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